The Wild Eyed Boy From Freecloud
by Cap'n Jackie Sparrow
Summary: Jareth's first visit to the mortal world happens around the 1600's when he flees from his family and journeys to the village Dreadful. He hopes to be accepted among the humans and possibly find himself. Unfortunately, not everything goes according to plan. The people of the town still tell the sad tale to this day. The Legend of the Wild Eyed Boy From Freecloud.
1. Chapter 1: The Village Dreadful

**Author's Note: Alright, so this is my first Labyrinth Fanfiction, but I'm certain I have a lot of good ideas that might appeal to the fan base. This isn't so much a Jareth and Sarah story as it is a frame story of Jareth's past. In case you aren't aware, the Wild Eyed Boy From Freecloud is a song by David Bowie off his second album, Space Oddity. If you do know, then you're one step ahead of the game and may already have an idea of what's going to go down. What I'm trying to do is incorporate Bowie's work into Jareth's life and shed some light on his past. Alright, enough needless author's chatter, I'll leave you to read the story already. (I own nothing, not Labyrinth, not Jareth, not David Bowie's song Wild Eyed Boy From Freecloud, nor any characters mentioned in it, I only own my OC's that I threw in for story-telling purposes.) **

_Chapter One: The Village Dreadful_

_Solemn faced  
The village settles down  
Undetected by the stars  
And the hangman plays the mandolin before he goes to sleep  
And the last thing on his mind  
Is the Wild Eyed Boy imprisoned  
'Neath the covered wooden shaft  
Folds the rope  
Into its bag  
Blows his pipe of smolders  
Blankets smoke into the room  
And the day will end for some  
As the night begins for one_

__

_Staring through the message in his eyes  
Lies a solitary son  
From the mountain called Freecloud  
Where the eagle dare not fly  
And the patience in his sigh  
Gives no indication  
For the townsmen to decide  
So the village Dreadful yawns  
Pronouncing gross diversion  
As the label for the dog  
Oh "It's the madness in his eyes"  
As he breaks the night to cry:_

__

_"It's really Me  
Really You  
And really Me  
It's so hard for us to really be  
Really You  
And really Me  
You'll lose me though I'm always  
really free"  
_

_And the mountain moved its eyes  
To the world of realize  
Where the snow had saved a place  
For the Wild Eyed Boy  
from Freecloud_

__

_And the village Dreadful cried  
As the rope began to rise  
For the smile stayed on the face  
Of the Wild Eyed Boy  
from Freecloud  
And the women once proud  
Clutched the heart of the crowd  
As the boulders smashed down from the mountain's hand_

__

_And the Magic in the stare  
Of the Wild Eyed Boy said  
"Stop, Freecloud  
They won't think to cut me down"  
But the cottages fell  
Like a playing card hell  
And the tears on the face  
Of the Wise Boy  
Came tumbling down  
To the rumbling ground  
And the missionary mystic of peace/love  
Stumbled to cry among the clouds  
Kicking back the pebbles  
From the Freecloud mountain  
Track. _

"Mummy! Mummy!" little Emma's cry broke the quiet of the night. She sat up, tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggled to wrench herself from her nightmare. She called for the closest thing to comfort she had besides her doll. Soon, her door opened and her mother's silhouette appeared to her like an angel, glowing with otherworldly warmth.  
"What is it, sweetie?" her mother asked. Her soft footsteps made faint padding noises on the wooden floor and she held out the candle in front of her. She sat on the edge of her daughter's bed and left the candle on the table beside it. She examined her daughter's face in the dim light. "Did you have a nightmare?"  
"Mhm," Emma nodded, sniffling. Her mother let out a murmur of sympathy and held out her arms. Emma struggled to get out from under the sheets and then flung herself into her mother's protective embrace. Tiny arms around her mother's neck, Emma clung to her like a life line. Rocking her back and forth, her mother whispered comforting words into her ears, kissing her head gently. Eventually, Emma quieted and grew still. Satisfied her job was done, Catherine tucked her back in bed, making sure her doll was nestled comfortably in her arms. She kissed her daughter's cheek softly and retrieved the candle, heading for the door.

"Wait," she heard Emma sitting up. "Will you tell me a bedtime story?"  
"…Honey—" Catherine was so tired and her bed was just another room away. She really didn't feel like it.  
"It'll help the nightmares go away," Emma insisted. There was a hopeful pause.  
"Oh, alright," Her mother consented and headed back to her daughter. "What story do you want to hear?" she inquired as she climbed into bed with her.  
"The one about the Wild Eyed Boy," Emma said excitedly, snuggling close to her mother. "From Freecloud."  
"Ah, so you've heard of him already?" her mother mused. "Well, I suppose it was only a matter of time."  
"We live right by Freecloud Mountain, Mummy!" Emma told her.  
"Yes, we do, dear."  
"So, since we live by it, I should know about it!" Emma concluded.

"You are one logical little five-year-old, aren't you?" Catherine murmured.  
"I am, I am! Mrs. Cunningham told me the other day, she said I looked six!" Emma announced.  
"Who's that, you're teacher?"  
"Yes, Mummy, I've told you a million times!" Emma said in the most exasperated voice she could manage.  
"Sorry, honey," her mother smiled slightly. "You know Mummy has a hard time remembering things."  
"Yes, I know," Emma replied, "But will you tell me the story?"  
"Oh, fine," her mother relented. "Let's see… how long ago was the Wild Eyed Boy's visit? I was… eleven, so that would be… twenty years I believe."  
"But, Mummy!" Emma whispered in awe. "That's _so_ long ago."  
"Not when you're my age," her mother answered. "Anyway, like I said, I was eleven when he came—"

"You met him!?" Emma interrupted.

"Look at you, so full of questions," her mother teased. Emma giggled. "Listen or you won't hear the story. Do you promise to listen?"  
"I promise."  
"Good. Now, it happened in this very village. It was not much bigger than it is now, but the reason for that comes later…"

The village Dreadful, presently, was not too different than it was the night before the Wild Eyed Boy came. Dreadful was a mere speck of a town that went virtually unnoticed by all of its neighboring communities. It was hidden by a forest of trees and a field of high swaying grasses. If it weren't for the local merchants that came and went to the other towns, it surely would've been forgotten, a world all its own. It wasn't even big enough to be a spot on a map. It was a solemn village, with solemn people who lived solemn lives. There were no more than fifty houses inside the meager foot high stone walls that surrounded it. Every morning, the people got up and went about their business and every evening it settled back down, undetected by the stars. To the people of Dreadful, life only consisted of what went on inside the town's walls. They might as well have been the only town on Earth and they were satisfied to stay that way. To them, they had always been there and would always remain there. Nothing new or unexpected ever happened there.

And though Dreadful may have been hardly worth looking at, the mountain beside it brought travelers from far and wide. Freecloud Mountain was surely something to behold. It was a solid black mass jutting out from the earth that towered high above the clouds. Nothing grew on it, not even a tree or blade of grass. It's shape was unusual and its surface oddly smooth. It was so great and ominous, not even the eagle dared fly near its summit or nest on one of its rocky crags. Few had attempted (and failed) to climb it and even fewer had even considered the idea. Catherine could recall tales the elders told about the mountain when she was younger. She and the other children used to gather around to listen to their stories about Freecloud no end of times. The mountain, the elders claimed, was not actually a mountain at all. They were living creatures. Stone giants that had long gone into hibernation. There were times when these great stone giants walked the earth, creating lakes and valleys and canyons, even other mountains with their feet. They shaped the world so it would be fit for human living. But there were only a slim few that ever existed. Their work was hard and they knew full well they could not continue after their many years of service. So they stopped their travels after a while and simply went to sleep.

The children would then ask why the mountain stayed still. Surely Freecloud had rested long enough. They also asked why Freecloud didn't get lonely and go off to visit his friends, the other stone giants. The elders replied that the ways of Freecloud are unknown to humans, but naughty children shouldn't go near, lest Freecloud wake up. The answer, the children agreed, was less than satisfactory. After hearing these stories time and time again, the children soon grew bored of hearing about Freecloud and found other things to occupy their time. But every now and again Catherine would find herself staring up at the mountain, thinking about the stories she had been told. It wasn't like she believed the fairytales the elders told. At the ripe old age of eleven she know what was true and what was untrue. And the stories about Freecloud were folly. Still… it was fun to imagine. While the bedtime stories may not have been real, Catherine knew there was something special about Freecloud. And while some people lived in fear of it, she came to see it as a friend.

Sometimes when she was in the schoolhouse, she would look out the window and at the Mountain and just dream about it. Unfortunately, as a result, she would be scolded for not paying attention and was eventually moved to a seat where she could not look out the window. It wasn't fair. She wasn't hurting anyone. But being the mature eleven-year-old she was, she sat quietly and didn't complain. In Church services, no one could stop her from looking out the windows. As long as she sang the hymns and could give a brief summary of what the reverend spoke about, her parents were content to let her stare out the window as long as she liked. Once or twice she made an attempt to leave the village and go see Freecloud for herself, but she was always stopped and brought back home. Despite this deterrent, her desire to go to Freecloud never left her and she really began to believe the place where she resided was truly dreadful.


	2. Chapter 2: The Wild Eyed Boy's Arrival

**Author's Note: Hey, everyone, I hope you're enjoying the story so far. Yes, I know, Jareth wasn't in the first chapter, but I hope that didn't deter any of you. It's going to start up now for real. If you're reading these author's notes, thank you, I'm probably not going to continue posting them so you can just get on to the story. (Author's notes usually bug me and I see them as a bit of a waste of space unless there's a real need for them like in the beginning or the end. These two chapters had a real need.) Thanks for reading and please leave a review if you feel so compelled. **

_Chapter Two: The Wild Eyed Boy's Arrival_

There were a few specific sensations the boy was feeling. There was a breeze all around him and a brisk cold. But despite that there were warm rays of sunlight that were soft, but insistent, urging wakefulness upon everything it touched. The wind buffeted the boy slightly and he became more and more aware of the hard stone beneath him he'd managed to ignore during sleep. Groaning, he opened one eye and then another and sat up. He was surrounded by snow, but there was none beneath him and none on top of him. He ran a hand through his feather soft hair and tried to get reoriented. Where was he again? He looked around him and all he saw was blue. He looked down. Oh, right. The top of Freecloud Mountain, how could he forget? Sleep seemed to mess with one's mind more than anything, he decided. But that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He stretched and reached for his black leather boots. Pulling them over his navy leggings, he then reached for the black leather vest he'd used as a makeshift pillow. He stood up, buttoning it over his white poet shirt. He hoped his hair didn't look too disheveled; appearance was everything, really.

"Today's the day, Freecloud," he announced. "I'm finally going to go down and see the humans!" He brushed his clothes off and made his way through the snow to look down at the village more closely. "I've never met humans before, have you?" He frowned in thought. "They're not supposed to look too different from the fae, but the books I read didn't have any pictures. You're lucky, you get to be near them every day." He fiddled with his black gloves anxiously. "Oh, I do hope they're nice. They should be nicer than everyone back home, at any rate."  
The thought of home put a damper on the boy's mood, but he shook off the negative thoughts and said, "I'm sure they'll be wonderful, Freecloud. I'll tell you all about it when I return." He nodded, as if to reassure himself. "You really have been quite kind to me. Thank you for letting me stay here for this brief interlude."

Closing his eyes, he focused very, very hard on his inner magic and waited for the warmth to flow through him from his head to his toes. Magic had warmth unlike any fire he'd ever been beside. When the tingling sensation passed, he opened his eyes and was pleased to see he'd successfully transfigured into a barn owlet. He wanted to say,  
"Look, Freecloud! I did it! And it only took ten minutes this time!" But what came out instead was, "Who?"  
He'd forgotten he couldn't talk in owl form. He was glad owls didn't blush, because his cheeks would've turned pink. With a few unsteady flaps of his wings, he was in the air and then gliding down the side of the mountain, heading for the dense forest below. It was a long way down, but the boy didn't mind. The wind slipped through his feathers and carried him pleasantly through the air. When he finally descended, he landed softly between the roots of an oak tree and focused once more, this time on his original form.

It was a bit harder, he thought, going back from a transfiguration. He wasn't sure why, maybe because he was growing bigger instead of shrinking. He dismissed the thought as the warmth left him and was glad to see he was fully fae again. It wouldn't do to have kept the beak or one of his wings. Frankly, though, he was exhausted. So he stayed reclined in the tree roots for a while, waiting for his energy to return to him. In the mean time, his mind wandered and he thought of humans. He knew a few things for certain; One, he could not reveal to them he was fae for humans were known to fear magic, Two, he should not reveal his true age, but rather, the human equivalent, Three, he should not try to draw too much attention to himself lest his origins become known to them. If he appeared to be an ordinary boy, they would probably not give him a second glance.

Feeling restored, the boy stood up and started walking through the woods in the general direction of the village. The sun was almost hanging directly above him when he arrived at the edge of the forest. That was another thing he was adjusting to, the quickness of human days and human time. He'd done his best to rise with their sun and sleep with its descent. It had been hard at first, but he'd grown accustomed. Looking out in front of him, he saw tall grasses stretching from his current position all the way to the stone wall of the town. He was so close now, so close he could almost touch it. He heard sounds of life from within and his heart beat started to quicken. He was so excited. Despite his excitement, he managed to calm down enough to focus on summoning a crystal. This was not as difficult as transfiguration, in his opinion. It started out as a glimmer that then became a translucent circular form, slowly it became tangible until it was solid. The sudden weight of crystals always surprised him and he nearly dropped it. Holding it clumsily in his hands, he turned it into a cloak and bag. He slung the cloak over his shoulders and put the hood over his head and held the bag firmly in one hand in case he felt the need to get anything while he was there. It took him a while, but he conjured another crystal and turned it into an elegant twelve-string guitar. He knew he would need money, but having a lot on hand would only arouse suspicion. He decided he might have to play the instrument in hopes of getting a few coins, if necessary.

The boy paused for a moment and racked his memory to see if he needed anything else. He didn't think so. Therefore, he started for the village with forced calm. As he grew closer and closer to the feeble stone walls, he noticed a sign. Written in English, it said, "Welcome to Dreadful." The fae halted in his footsteps. Dreadful? Why would anyone want to name a town Dreadful? Surely the word had a negative connotation. He looked in at the village. It didn't seem _too_ bad. Humans, maybe, lacked judgment when it came to naming things. He wasn't quite sure. Despite the off-putting sign, he entered the village. It was nothing at all like the grand estates and mansions people had back at home. And it certainly wasn't the palace. The ground was comprised of dirt paths, not even cobblestones, and every time he put his foot down a cloud of dust rose from the hard, compacted earth. The houses were mainly one story cottages. They were plain and undecorated, but looked as though they were built to last, some of them more so than others. Compared to fae standards, everything so far was practically rubbish. But the boy didn't mind.

Everything he saw was new and different and he took it all in with great curiosity. He passed by an old well and saw what might've been a Town Hall. It was the biggest building around, but still only one story. The place was so small—he realized—that he could see everything worth seeing just from standing in the center and turning around in place. There was a jail almost the size of the Town Hall with a crude fence around it. He also saw a few barns, a general store, and a set of gallows, a tavern or two and some pens with cattle and horses and swine. There was also a church, a school house, a barber shop, and a doctor's office. Some of these things he was familiar with, but other places he had to think back to his reading and try and figure out what they were. All of these things were fascinating, but the thing that really drew his attention was the market.

It was full of people. Whether they were selling things, buying things, doing street performances, or just talking, it didn't matter. They were just there, living. The fae, deeply fascinated, found his way inside of the crowd. He stopped at a fruit stand and after thinking carefully, bought an apple for later. The next place was selling jewelry. He considered the idea of buying something, but decided against it. If he saw anything he really liked, he'd get it, but most of these things seemed quite cheap compared to fae adornments. To his relief no one paid him a second glance as he perused what the market had to offer. Once or twice someone would come up and ask if he was willing to sell the guitar, to which he politely declined and hastily continued on his way. Though he may have thought he was generally unnoticed, he was actually wrong. The people of Dreadful were quite good at being subtle and they always knew when there was an outsider in their midst. His coinage was different theirs. It was silver. While this aroused attention, no one really did anything. There were just whispers that slipped through the crowd and a few pointed fingers. Some shop keepers made a point of encouraging him to come and look at what they had to offer, which he did gladly, but no one approached him. One of the shopkeepers said to another that the boy had wild-looking eyes.

Despite this, he went about unchallenged and unquestioned. From what he saw, the boy really enjoyed Dreadful. He didn't think the place could get better until he encountered a caravan of gypsies who had set up a wagon so they could perform. They were singing and playing instruments and dancing. A few people threw coins in a tin cup at the feet of the main guitarist. Seeing this, the boy followed suit. The gypsy with the guitar looked up and nodded his thanks, but then did a double take upon seeing the boy's twelve-string.  
"You play?" he inquired in English. There was an accent he held that the boy could not identify. He'd not thought about accents when he'd studied human languages. That was a foolish thing of him to overlook.  
"Yes, I do," he answered the gypsy, sheepishly.  
"Hey, the boy plays too!" the scruffy young man announced to his fellow musicians. There was an accordion player, a violinist, a flutist, and a dancer with a tambourine. "Come, play something with us."

The young fae was taken by great surprise.  
"Are… are you sure you want me to play?" he asked, pulling his hood back to reveal his face.  
"_Si, si_. You start," the man encouraged. The kid with the accordion kicked a box his way and the fae stopped it with his boot. Realizing he was meant to sit on it, he hesitantly did so and rested his guitar on his lap. '_You start,' that's what the man said, so go on_, he thought. Taking a deep breath, he started strumming some simple notes. It was a small piece he'd been working on recently. Everyone at home had taken a dislike to it and said it was frivolous and un-artistic, so he practiced by himself. It was called "Don't Sit Down." His fingers danced across the strings and the gypsies listened with interest. They started to get into the beat and the dancer began to shake her tambourine to the tune. The guitarist accompanied with some simpler chords and the accordion player served as an interesting addition the fae had never considered before.

"_Yeah, yeah, baby, yeah. Yeah, yeah, baby, yeah. Yeah, yeah, baby, yeah. Yeah_," he murmured some words along with the notes he was playing. "_Don't sit down. Don't sit down. Don't sit down_." He broke off into laughter at the show the gypsies were making. They laughed with him, complimented his ability, and clapped him on the shoulder. The boy felt quite pleased. Unbeknownst to him, though, his music had drawn a crowd. He stood and turned and was barely able conceal his horror at seeing so many people standing around him. However, they weren't hostile. They were smiling and encouraging, a few were still clapping. He ducked his head, embarrassed and thanked them in a small voice. He'd hoped to leave before the crowd got too big, but they had started to ask him questions.

"What's your name, son?"  
"Uh… Jareth."  
"Are you one of these gypsies?"  
"No… uh, no, ma'am."  
"Who are you with, then?"  
"No one, sir."  
"No one? Where are your parents?"  
"Um… they… uh…"  
"What are you doing here?"  
"I'm… just travelling."  
"A traveler?"  
"Yes."  
"Aren't you a bit young?"  
"I… don't think so."  
"Where are you staying?"  
"I don't know… I…"  
"How long do you think you'll stay?"  
"I'm not sure…"  
"Do you like Dreadful?"  
"Yes, it's very nice."  
"You really are quite good with that guitar."  
"Thank you, I…"  
"Would you be willing to sell it for…?"  
"NO! … Thank you…"  
"How old are you?"  
"Eleven…"  
"Your eyes are quite… unusual."  
"Are they? I hadn't no…"  
"Where are you from?"  
"I um…"  
"The neighboring villages?"  
"No, I…"  
"Well, where then?"  
"I… just came from Freecloud."

That hushed the mass of people quite quickly and, for a moment, Jareth wasn't quite sure what he'd done.  
"You… came from _Freecloud_?" someone voiced what everyone was thinking. Sensing an affirmative answer would not get him in good graces with the townsfolk, Jareth panicked.  
"Uh, no. I mean, I came from the general direction of Freecloud. It's not like I lived on Freecloud and came down, no."  
That seemed to relax the crowd a bit. "Why?" Jareth ventured out of curiosity. "Is there something wrong with the mountain?"  
"It gives people a bad feeling, it does," an older man piped up, "It being so black and dark and ominous. No man has ever climbed that mountain and lived. Some say it's haunted."  
Jareth raised his eyebrows. The bit about humans fearing magical things was true.  
"But, that would be ridiculous, wouldn't it, Old Man Saunders?" a bombastic voice now spoke. Jareth's—and the crowd's—attention was drawn to a wide man in black robes. He was aged, with graying hair and a countenance like that of a bull dog.

"Oh, yes, t' would, sir," Old Man Saunders stammered, bowing slightly. "A foolish notion, sir."  
"Yes, the people of Dreadful are indeed sensible enough to not let petty superstitions rule them," he looked down at Jareth. "To insinuate that a mountain had any supernatural tendencies would be quite foolish, wouldn't it?"  
Feeling quite cross examined, Jareth nodded his head and answered what he hoped was the appropriate answer, "Quite, sir."  
The man smiled and extended his hand, "I am Judge Braen."  
Remembering his research, Jareth put his black gloved hand in Judge Braen's. "I'm Jareth." Quickly, he grasped for a last name, "Faeson."  
"An honor, Jare_th_ Faeson?" Braen emphasized his name in question, as if to ask if he was pronouncing it right.  
"Yes, sir," Jareth nodded as they shook hands.  
"Welcome to Dreadful," he said to him.  
"Thank you," Jareth said, glancing about. Some people had drifted away, but there was still a crowd. These humans seemed to be a bit nosey.

"Where did you say you were from, young man?" Braen inquired.  
"Um, just one of the villages on the other side of Freecloud," Jareth improvised in the most polite and innocent voice he could manage.  
"And your parents are with you?" Braen continued. Jareth really was starting to feel very uncomfortable with all of these questions. He should've tried to think of an alibi ahead of time. He cursed himself inwardly for not being able to focus on small details. He'd always been a bigger picture kind of guy.  
"No, sir. They are back at home. I'm going to visit my… grandparents. They're still a few villages away, but, uh, my parents thought I could make the trip on my own this time."  
"Well, you are practically a grown adult, aren't you?" the judge said and the adults around him chuckled. _Older than you,_ Jareth thought, his eyes flickering a bit in annoyance, but said nothing. "Are you thinking of staying long, Mr. Faeson?"  
"Um, perhaps a few weeks," Jareth said. "I think it's good to rest a while. And as long as I'm travelling I think it'd be nice to get to know each town I stop at and the people there."  
"Well, you're quite welcome here Mr. Faeson," Braen reassured him. "Perhaps such a talented musician would assist with Church services on Sunday, yes?"

The idea terrified Jareth. He had never been to a church or performed in front of humans until just then. He'd never even considered playing for his fellow fae, but he stammered,  
"Sure… if I'm needed. But I don't think I'm that—"  
"Excellent, boy," Judge Braen interrupted jovially. "Enjoy your time here." And he walked away. The crowd around him started to thin, but the occasional person would welcome him briefly before going on their way. One man, who was around Braen's age, wearing a black robe and white collar approached Jareth.  
"Hello, Mr. Faeson," he greeted him. "I'm Reverend Verity."  
"It's nice to meet you, sir," Jareth shook his hand politely.  
"I'm head of the Church here in Dreadful," he explained.  
"Oh," Jareth swallowed.  
"Or the Dreadful Church, if you're feeling cynical," Verity said, with a twinkle in his eye. "No need to be frightened, you don't have to perform for the village. I must apologize; Judge Braen tends to volunteer people against their will. He means well, but can be a bit… forcible."  
"I noticed, sir," Jareth admitted, sheepishly. The reverend laughed.  
"You can come to Church tomorrow if you like, but you don't have to," Reverend Verity told him. "We'll still be glad that you're here."

"That's a relief, sir," Jareth replied. "I just don't want the Judge to volunteer me again."  
"He sits in the front row of the church," Reverend Verity advised. "As long as he's the first one in, you should be fine."  
"Alright, then I might join you," Jareth said, truthfully.  
"I'll do my best to make the sermon up to your standards," Reverend Verity winked. "Also, there's an inn right by the barns if you're looking for a place to rest."  
"Thank you very much, sir," Jareth said, gratefully. "I would've been quite turned around looking for it. Have a nice day, sir."  
"God bless you," were the reverend's parting words and Jareth made his way for the inn Verity spoke of.

The fae was starting to see the humor of the town as he headed for the Dreadful Inn. He wondered if there were other places called Peculiar or Uninteresting. Maybe he would find villages like that when he continued his travels. Approaching the innkeeper, he paid him a few silver coins and was then shown to a room where he could stay. It was quite small, but Jareth assured himself he didn't need too much space. The wooden floor creaked under his feet and there was a musty smell that hung in the air. There was a small straw mattress covered with a thin quilt in the corner which he was amazed to see was an actual bed. Was it like this for everyone? The town really was quite poor. He supposed it was better than the hard rock of Freecloud, though. At the foot of the bed there was a chest where he could put his things and a table and stool on the opposite side of the room. The thing he appreciated most was the window through which he could watch the people who passed by.

He removed his cloak and hung it up by the door, setting his bag and guitar by the table. Afterwards he headed for the chest at the foot of the bed. He'd have to store clothes there, but the question was as to the amount of clothing he should keep. He wasn't sure how much clothing the average human wore in a poor village like this. He shook his head, realizing how much of this he was making up as he went along. He summoned a crystal and let it drop into the chest. In a shift of magic the orb transformed into neatly folded articles of clothing. The clothes consisted of two poet shirts, one white and one black, three other pairs of leggings in black, grey, and dark blue, and an extra pair of brown boots. Surely that wasn't too much. He'd normally changed outfits many times during the day depending on his mood, and lately his mood had been rather glum. He knew he wouldn't be able to change clothes at the snap of his fingers because of the whole humans/magic issue. He huffed. Being incognito was a bit of a downer.

"Hello."  
Jareth's head shot up in surprise and he let the lid of the chest fall shut. The voice had come from the window and was connected the face of a young girl. Her hair was wavy and brown and hung loose around her shoulders. She had downturned eyes the color of the sky and her skin was a soft cream.  
"…Hello," he replied hesitantly.  
"I'm Catherine," the girl introduced herself.  
"I'm Jareth," he replied.  
"I know," she said amiably. "I saw you in the market."  
"Oh, yes," Jareth stood, walking towards the window. "I suppose there was a large crowd. Um, how long have you been standing here?"

"I just got here," she replied. "I know you're new here so I wanted to meet you."  
"Oh," Jareth said, pleasantly surprised. "It's nice to meet you." He extended his hand through the window and held hers briefly.  
"Also, I don't mean to be too curious," Catherine said, "But what were you doing with that crystal?"  
Jareth froze, "I was… just… unpacking my things."  
"Alright," the girl said without giving the subject a second thought. "But are you gonna visit the other kids here in the village?"  
"I'd love to," Jareth said truthfully, "But I only just got here and I've been travelling a lot."  
"Well, we have church tomorrow," Catherine told him. "And usually we children get together while the adults talk afterwards. So, I can introduce you to everyone then."  
"That sounds nice," Jareth said, smiling. Catherine smiled back.  
"Oh, and I don't mean to be rude, but I have a question," she said suddenly.

"Yes?" Jareth asked.  
"Hold on," Catherine requested and then ran from the window. Jareth was taken aback. Where was she going? After a moment's hesitation, he stuck his head outside to see where she'd gone, but she was nowhere to be found. What was the meaning of that? Just then the door opened behind him. He whirled around.  
"I don't like window conversation," Catherine said as she entered. Taking her appearance in fully, Jareth saw she was dressed in a worn white poet shirt, a greyish brown skirt, and a light blue shawl wrapped around her shoulders. "Anyway… wait, why are you still at the window?"  
"I…"  
"What, did you think I just left?" she smiled as if it was something quite funny.  
"I just didn't know where you'd gone," Jareth said, shifting on his feet in embarrassment. "You didn't say anything, you just took off."

"True," she relented, "But anyway, my question."  
"Yes," Jareth nodded.  
"You said to Judge Braen that you came from a village by Freecloud," she told him. "What's it called?" There was a slight challenge in her voice.  
"Um…" Jareth fumbled for words, but his hesitation was obvious. "It's uh…"  
"I knew it!" Catherine exclaimed. "You _did_ come from Freecloud."  
"What?" Jareth cried indignantly. "That's outrageous."  
"No, it's not," Catherine folded her arms. "When people asked you where you were from you said, 'Freecloud.' But when you realized that was a bad answer you corrected yourself and said 'A village near Freecloud.' It wasn't too convincing, though."  
"What are you trying to…?"  
"But adults never notice those things, they think children are idiots and don't pay any real attention to what we say. They only hear what they want to hear," she huffed and was silent for a moment. "But anyway, you definitely came from Freecloud and there's no way you can convince me otherwise!"

"Shhhhh!" Jareth took her by the shoulders and shook her once. "Sh." He headed for the windows and closed the shutters. "Not so bloody loud."  
"So you _are_ from Freecloud," she said victoriously, but more quietly.  
"Yes, fine, I came from Freecloud," he replied irritably. "But you can't go telling anyone. You humans obviously don't like the mountain for whatever reason."  
"Humans?" Catherine cocked her head to the side.  
Jareth's slip became apparent to him and he let out a groan.  
"Idiot," he said. "I'm an idiot." He kicked the chest at the foot of the bed angrily. "Why can't I just keep my mouth shut!?" He flopped onto the mattress face down. He hadn't even been in the village for a whole day and already he'd messed up. He'd more than messed up. He'd drawn attention to himself, he'd let some girl figure out he'd come from Freecloud, and now he'd just let on that he wasn't human. He heard Catherine walk over to the table, pick up a stool, and then set it down by his bed.

"What do you mean? Why do you say 'humans' as if you're not one?" she asked. He turned his head to the side to look at her. "And why are your eyes… different?"  
"You can't tell anyone," he said. "Not a single living soul."  
"I won't tell anyone," Catherine said earnestly, leaning forward.  
"You must swear an oath of fealty," Jareth demanded.  
"Um... how about we do a pinky promise instead?" Catherine suggested.  
"This will be sufficient," Jareth said reluctantly. Catherine held out her hand and extended her pinky. Jareth did the same and they hooked their little fingers around the other.  
"There," Catherine said. "Now I can't tell anyone. That done, tell me about Freecloud! Do you live there? Are there other people on Freecloud?"  
"No," Jareth propped himself up on his elbow. "There's no one on Freecloud. Not even animals. And I don't live there. I rested on its peak for a time before I came down to Dreadful."  
"How did you get up there?" Catherine inquired.

"I flew," Jareth replied.  
"Humans can't fly," Catherine scoffed.  
"I'm not human," Jareth admitted, quite annoyed with all this information he had to give under the protection of the pinky swear. "I'm fae. That's why my eyes are different than yours. I didn't know that was one of the defining differences between human and fae when I came."  
"Fae?" Catherine asked in awe. "Really?"  
"Really," Jareth rolled over onto his back.  
"Well… if you're magic… then do something magic," she instructed. Jareth sighed and raised a hand, focusing hard. Soon, a crystal started to form in his hand and eventually became solid. Catherine gasped. "That's amazing."  
"You're not afraid?" Jareth asked, genuinely surprised.  
"No, of course not," Catherine said. "I mean the adults would probably have heart attacks and try to hang you for being a sorcerer, but I think that's truly fantastic."  
"That sounds… unsavory," Jareth said.

"Don't worry, I'm not telling anyone," Catherine reassured him. "Cross my heart and hope to die." She mimed the action with her finger.

Jareth frowned. "Why would you want to do that?"  
"Oh, it's just a phrase for a promise," Catherine responded. "I guess it's a bit morbid, isn't it?"  
"A bit," Jareth said, jokingly. Catherine smiled, but then her face dropped. "Oh, wait, what time is it?" She stood and opened the window. "Blast, I need to get back to my parents. They'll wonder where I've been." Jareth sat up. "I have to go. Will I still see you at church tomorrow?"  
"Yes, of course," Jareth replied.  
"Wonderful," Catherine said, heading for the door.  
"Wait, Catherine," Jareth called. She turned. "Take this." He tossed the crystal to her. As she caught it, it transformed into a rose bud. "And don't tell anyone about me."  
Catherine's cheeks turned bright red. "Thank you. I won't." And she was gone. Jareth leaned back against the wall, his mind whirling. Things went so much faster in the world of humans than it did in the world of the fae. Had all that really happened in such a short amount of time? He sighed. He hoped he could rely on that girl. If she went about telling everything he'd just told her, it would be enough to get him hanged, just like she said. He shuddered. He firmly decided he would not let himself slip up like that ever again. Catherine, he hoped, would stay true to her word. As long as none of the adults found out, he was sure he'd be fine.


	3. Chapter 3: Dreadful People

_Chapter Three: Dreadful People_

The boy awoke the next morning very slowly and leisurely. He was quite glad for the straw mattress underneath him and his blanket. He was much more comfortable and warm than he'd ever been on Freecloud. He stretched out a little and then rolled onto his back, sighing heavily. It was another day to explore and see what wonderful adventures the mortal world had in store for him. But before he could do that, he would need some music to start the morning. He limply extended his hand to where his guitar was propped on the opposite wall. He concentrated for a bit and could feel the tendrils of magic extending from his fingertips. The magic started out rather lazily, drifting towards the instrument until it made contact. The strings of the guitar thrummed softly. Opening his hand and making some gestures with his fingers the magic wrapped around the guitar at the base and around the neck. Bending his hand at the wrist, he was able to raise the guitar in the air and have it hover a few inches above the ground. Jareth started to curl his fingers inward and the guitar slowly drifted over to him, pulled gently by the magic he was exerting. It reached the bed and bumped gently against it. Jareth winced despite the absence of damage and reached out with his other hand taking it for real. His magic dissipated.

For a few moments he spent his time strumming mindlessly, but then devoted his time to the little tune he'd been playing in the market square the previous day. He wasn't quite sure what he'd do with it, maybe he'd scrap it, maybe he'd keep it, but for the mean time he decided he would just play it until it was second nature. Lying back on the bed he stared at the guitar with heavy-lidded eyes as he played. His fingers moved steadily over the strings in a repetitive manner and his right arm seemed to act on its own accord, knowing just how to hit the strings to get the desired sound. He thought back to the gypsies and their appreciation for his playing. The fact that music could affect fae and human alike intrigued him. Maybe that would be how he connected with them, through music. But then he was yanked from his stupor as someone knocked harshly at the shutters of his window. Jareth started and sat up quickly, putting his guitar down and getting up from the bed. He momentarily wondered if he was in trouble. He opened the shutters, expecting some town official, only to see Catherine, the girl he'd met the other day. She was dressed in what Jareth would assume were her finest clothes. Her hair was done up and hidden under a bonnet. She wore a conservative brown dress that went to her wrists and ankles and cream stockings with her black dress shoes. In her gloved hand she held some sort of book that Jareth could not make out the title of. Glancing at the other people of the town behind her, he saw that everyone was wearing their best clothes. Something important must've been happening for them to do so. Cynically, he noted how poor they all looked compared to the fae at home. It wasn't that they looked bad, they were a completely different culture, but only the least fortunate of the fae back at home wore this kind of clothing. It gave him a good idea of how to dress, though, so he supposed that was good.

"Hullo Catherine," he greeted her.  
"Good morning," she replied. "You haven't forgotten your promise, have you?"  
Jareth blinked. "My… promise?"  
Catherine laughed, "I should've known you'd forget. You're not even wearing the proper clothes. I invited you to church, remember?"  
It hit Jareth all at once. "Oh! I'm so sorry, I completely forgot!"  
"Clearly," Catherine smiled.  
"Here, give me one moment, I will be out and ready!" he reassured her, closing the shutters. He ran to the chest at the end of his bed and pulled out an outfit. He quickly tucked his white poet shirt into grey trousers and threw on his black leather vest over it. He was shoving his feet into his boots on the way out and only just managed to pull on his black gloves as he left the inn. He met up with Catherine on the other side and was attempting to comb through his hair and make himself look presentable.

"You changed fast," Catherine remarked. "But you look good. Ready to go?"  
"Ready as I'll ever be," Jareth said with a shrug.  
"Oh, don't sound so downcast!" Catherine shoved him playfully.  
"Well, I've never been to church. I don't know what I'm supposed to do!" he said defensively.  
"You'll be fine! Just do what I do, church isn't all that bad," she reassured him. "And I can introduce you to everyone after the service! I'm sure they'll be dying to see you."  
"Yes, I did draw quite a lot of attention to myself the other day, didn't I?" Jareth blushed.  
"Don't worry about it, everyone would've sought you out anyway, we always recognize when there's a stranger in town," Catherine said.  
"Always?" Jareth asked.  
"Everybody knows everybody around here," Catherine said. "There's only about fifty of us."  
"Oh my," Jareth murmured.  
"Come on, now, we're gonna be late!" she urged and they trotted towards the church at a quick pace.

Even if Jareth didn't have Catherine as his guide, he supposed he could've figured out where the church was. Everyone was heading towards a building near the front of town. It was taller than the others, mainly because of the cross and steeple at the top. A young man was ringing a bell in front of the establishment and people were steadily filing in, exchanging pleasant hellos and hugs and suchlike.  
"Don't worry about all the people," Catherine said to him. "You can sit next to me. I'll explain what to do. It's all rather simple, really."  
Jareth nodded to indicate he understood, but he still felt nervous. As they got closer to the door, Jareth saw Reverend Verity greeting everyone at the door.  
"Good morning, Mr. Faeson, Miss Horner," he smiled down at them. "It's a real pleasure to see you both."  
"Thank you, Reverend," Jareth ducked his head in respect. If anyone else had said that to him, he felt he might not have taken them to be sincere, but Reverend Verity just seemed very genuine in his speech.

They entered the church building and Jareth was very grateful that he had not run into Judge Braen on his way in. He scanned the crowd and saw Braen sitting in the front row of the pews, turned around and in conversation with a man in the pew just behind him. The pews were divided into two columns. There was a walkway right down the middle and on either of the far sides. In front of all of the pews was a large stage with a podium and a chair or two. On the wall behind it were tapestries with intricate artwork on it which Jareth appreciated a lot. There was a small organ in the front corner with an elderly woman sitting hunched in front of it.  
"That's Mrs. Johnson," Catherine said. "She's been playing the organ for the church as long as anyone can remember!"  
"She must be good at it," Jareth murmured. Catherine showed him to the left side of pews where her family was already sitting.  
"Hey, Mum, Dad, Isaiah," she said to them. "Meet my new friend, Jareth Faeson." The family turned to her and looked past at Jareth. "Jareth, this is my family."  
"Hullo," Jareth said, waving slightly.  
"This is my brother, Isaiah," she gestured to the young boy who looked a good deal like her. He had a round face, round eyes, and big ears.  
"Hi," Isaiah said, shrinking close to his mother's side.  
"He's shy," Catherine explained. "He's also six."  
"Six and a half," Isaiah argued.

"This is my mother," Catherine gestured to the woman who now had her arm around her son. She was blonde with green eyes and angular features.  
"It's lovely to see you," she nodded to Jareth. "You may call me Mrs. Horner."  
"It's a pleasure, Mrs. Horner," Jareth nodded.  
"And this is my dad," Catherine smiled at the large man who looked to be a head taller than his wife. He had dark hair and dark eyes and a full beard.  
"It's nice to meet you," he extended his hand and Jareth shook it.  
"The same to you, sir," Jareth smiled.  
"So, tell us, where are you from?" Catherine's mother asked.  
"Far away, I'm afraid," Jareth said. "Not a village anywhere near here."  
"Oh, then I probably wouldn't know it," Mrs. Horner admitted. "I was born and raised in Dreadful. I've never been to any of the neighboring villages." As a side note, she added, "I don't even know the names of those!" and laughed.

"How old are you, lad?" Mr. Horner asked.  
"Eleven," Jareth answered.  
"Oh, just the same as our girl!" he remarked. "How do you like school? Catherine can't seem to pay any attention to her schoolmaster."  
"Father," Catherine hissed.  
"School is fine," Jareth said.  
"Do you do well?" Mrs. Horner inquired.  
"Yes ma'am, I think I do alright," he replied. He had no idea what she was talking about. He had lessons back home, but he had no idea whether they were in anyway similar to the ones here. Mrs. Horner looked as though she was going to keep speaking, but then Reverend Verity went up to the podium and everyone fell silent.

"Welcome, dear brothers and sisters," he greeted them, "to yet another service. It is my pleasure to see all of your smiling faces." He straightened his glasses. "I would like to thank each and every one of you for coming. Our service is about to begin. Let us all join in worship."  
He stepped down and the woman in the corner, Mrs. Johnson, started playing the organ. Everyone stood and Jareth followed suit, not sure what was going on. Apparently the tune she played was familiar to all the village residence because they burst forth into loud singing without looking at any paper. Jareth felt terribly outnumbered. While the singing was not altogether good, it was well meant and sung with gusto. Jareth braced himself against the incessant bellowing of the villagers, biting his tongue and trying his best not to look terribly uncomfortable. After at least five songs, the crowd sat down and Jareth sighed with relief. Catherine giggled.  
"I know, we're not very good."  
Jareth blushed, embarrassed his thoughts had been noticed.  
"I didn't…"  
"It's fine," Catherine reassured him.

After the singing, Reverend Verity went back up to the podium.  
"Today, we will be delving into the life of our Lord and Savior," he announced. "Everyone, please turn to the book of Matthew…"  
There was a general shifting about and then ruffling of pages as everyone pulled out a book they all seemed to share. Jareth panicked. He didn't have anything like that. He didn't know he was supposed to bring literature to this place. Catherine nudged him and offered her own book they could share. Jareth gratefully leaned in and studied the pages she presented. Reverend Verity started to speak about ignorance and intolerance. He spoke about how the Jews betrayed a man named Jesus Christ. The Reverend said they did this because they were ignorant that Christ was their savior and intolerant because, if they'd heard, they refused to believe. Reverend Verity went on to talk about how ignorance in general was not something the people of Dreadful should be characterized with. He said the people should make an effort to learn about people around them and neighboring villages and such like. He also said they should not be intolerant to new comers or to each other or people who are different. He spoke about peace and love and accepting one another.

Jareth wasn't quite sure about a lot of things he said, like the history of these peoples of different religions, but he liked what he had to say about loving one another. If he could just convince the family back at home everything would all just be fine and dandy. The service ended with another hymn and then Reverend Verity dismissed them and they all started milling about the place, some leaving and some lingering behind.  
"Come on," Catherine grabbed Jareth by the hand. "I have to introduce you to the others."  
"But it's so crowded," Jareth said.  
"That's why we're going outside," Catherine laughed. And they did. They squeezed past adults and children and finally made it to freedom, just outside of the church.  
"What did you think?" Catherine asked when they stepped out into the sunlight.

"Of what? The singing?" Jareth furrowed his brow.  
"Of the service, you clot!" Catherine shoved him and he smiled.  
"It was alright, I guess," Jareth shrugged. "I didn't know a lot of the people he was talking about, but love is good."  
"Ha, 'love is good,'" Catherine smiled. "If any adults ask you, tell them you completely agreed with his sermon, that's what they'll want to hear."  
"Why is that?" Jareth inquired.  
"They don't like non-Christians," Catherine answered. "I dunno why it's a problem, but they don't, so just thinking you should give them the 'right' answer, you know?"  
"Yes," Jareth nodded. "Adults have their ways, don't they?"

"Ooh! Look, here come my friends, I'll introduce you," Catherine waved to two girls her age and they walked over to greet her.  
"Hi Kelly, hi Shannon," she said.  
"Hi Catherine," they replied in unison.  
"Jareth, this is Kelly and Shannon Gibson," she introduced them. "They're twins." They were indeed. They were practically identical, with straight, jet black hair and dark eyes. Their hair was even styled the same way, in two tails on either side of their head. But Kelly had a mole on her cheek. _That's probably helpful for the parents_, Jareth thought. He bowed to them.  
"Hello Kelly and Shannon," he said. "I'm Jareth Faeson."  
They curtseyed.  
"Nice to meet you," Kelly said. Shannon whispered something in her sister's ear. "Shannon says she likes your hair."  
"Oh," Jareth put a hand to his head. "Thank you. You both have quite beautiful hair, yourselves." They blushed.

"Look, there's the Wilsons!" Catherine said. "Excuse us, I have to introduce Jareth to a whole lot of people. Come on, Jareth!"  
"See you later," Jareth said to the twins. They waved and Catherine pulled him over to a new family.  
"James, Peter, Maxwell," she greeted them. "Have you met my new friend?"

The three boys halted and then walked over to them.  
"I don't think we have," the middle one said. He was of an average height and build and a round nose. He extended his hand to Jareth. "I'm Peter, how do you do?"  
Jareth shook the russet-haired boy's hand firmly. "I'm well. My name is Jareth, how are you?"  
"Just fine," Peter answered. "Maxwell, say hello to the stranger."  
"I'm not a baby," the slightly chubby, chestnut-haired boy glared at his brother. He went up and shook hands with Jareth. "I'm seven."  
"It's a good age," Jareth consented.

"I'm James," the oldest boy nodded to Jareth, but didn't make a move to shake his hand. He was tall and thin and had long brown hair tied back from his face. He seemed a bit standoffish.  
"A pleasure," Jareth nodded.  
"How old are you?" Peter asked Jareth.  
"Eleven," Jareth answered.  
"Aw, you're a year older than me. I'd hoped we'd be in the same year," he said. "Are you going to come to school?"  
"Uh…" Jareth blinked.  
"Don't pester him with questions!" Catherine scolded. "He just got here yesterday, how is he supposed to know what he wants to do?"  
"I haven't even met everyone yet," Jareth shrugged noncommittally.

"There aren't a lot of people to meet," James said, picking at his nails.  
"Yes, this village is very small," Jareth remarked.  
"Is the village that you come from very big?" Maxwell asked.  
"I was about to ask that!" Peter said.  
"Oh yes," Jareth answered. "Very big."  
"Wow," Maxwell murmured. "I want to live in a big village."

"Maybe you will someday," Jareth said.  
"That'd be nice," Catherine said. "But quick, you need to meet the others, Jareth."  
"Alright," Jareth murmured, "Goodbye, Peter, Maxwell, James."  
They all said their goodbyes and Jareth was brought over to another family of three, with two boys and a girl.

"Hello, Catherine," a young girl said to her. She looked about nine, with strawberry blonde hair she wore loose around her shoulders. She was very small and had bright blue eyes.  
"Hi Sally," Catherine smiled down at her. "This is Jareth. He's new here."  
"Welcome," Sally said to Jareth, blushing and twisting the fabric of her dress between her hands. "Do you like the town?"  
"Very much so," Jareth answered. "Catherine's been introducing me to everyone here."  
"My brothers are over there," she pointed to two other small boys with equally blonde hair. One was bigger and rounder and the other was small and thin like Sally.

"Hank! Samuel!" Catherine called to them. "Come meet Jareth!"

They two boys trotted over and gazed up at Jareth with wonder.  
"Why are your eyes so weird?" the younger one asked. Jareth was taken aback.  
"Sammy, don't say that," Hank hissed.  
"Sorry."  
"Are my eyes really strange?" Jareth wondered aloud.  
"NO," Hank insisted.  
"A little," Samuel said in a small voice.  
"Sammy!" Hank shoved his brother.  
"Hey!" Samuel tried to shove Hank back.

"No, no, don't fight," Jareth pleaded. "It's alright if my eyes are strange. It doesn't matter."  
"He just wears makeup," Catherine said to them.  
"Like Mummy?" Hank inquired.  
"Yes, like your mummy," Catherine nodded. Jareth wasn't sure what she was going on about, but it seemed like she was covering for him so he let her speak.  
"That's funny," Sammy said. "Hank, do you think Mummy will let us try on her make up?"  
"Let's go ask her!" Hank suggested and they took off.

"Ooh, maybe that was a bad idea," Catherine muttered. "Oh, well. You ready to meet other people?"  
"Sure," Jareth said.  
"Let's go talk to the Powell children," Catherine suggested. "They're nice. Faith is my best friend."  
A lot more people had exited the church and were standing about talking to each other. Catherine quickly located the family and guided Jareth over.  
"Hey, girls," Catherine said. "Meet my new friend, Jareth."  
They smiled and curtsied. "It's nice to meet you," the oldest one said. "My name's Mary."  
"Hello, Mary," Jareth smiled at the brunette with curly locks.  
"I'm Faith," the auburn-haired and blue eyed girl said.  
"I'm Hannah," the smallest one insisted. Her hair was just a shade lighter than Mary's.  
"It's very nice to meet all of you," Jareth smiled at them. "I hope I can keep everyone's names straight. I've met a lot of people today."  
"You can do it," Hannah said. "We all have."

"I think we just have the Smiths and the Whites left," Catherine admitted.  
"Well, go catch them then," Faith said. "You know the Smiths like to leave early."  
"We will, come on, Jareth," Catherine urged and they went to yet another family. "Molly, hello!"  
A girl with long straight light brown hair turned to them. "Oh, hello Catherine." Her blue eyes landed on Jareth. "You're the boy from the market the other day, aren't you?"  
"Yes, Jareth Faeson," he bowed and she nodded to him.  
"It's nice to meet you," she said, but her tone held a note of insincerity. Jareth didn't let it bother him.  
"Who's this?" a curly, black haired boy approached them.  
"Andrew, this is Jareth," Catherine said. "He's new here."  
"Welcome to town, Jareth," Andrew nodded. "How long have you been here?"  
"Two days," Jareth answered.  
"You like it here?"  
"Yes, it's nice."  
"Good."

"Oh, there's, Evan," Catherine pointed him out. Evan was short and stocky with brown hair.  
"He doesn't like talking to people," Andrew said. "Don't take it personally."  
"I won't," Jareth reassured him.  
"We just have the Whites left to meet," Catherine remarked. "We are making a lot of progress, aren't we?"  
"Yes, we are," Jareth admitted.  
"Let's go find those other two then," Catherine decided. They walked around for a bit, but then stumbled upon a young redhead who looked about five.  
"Hi! Hi Grace," Catherine squatted to be at her height. "This is Jareth. Can you say hello to him?"  
"Hi Jared," Grace said in a small voice.  
"No, no, no," Catherine shook her head. "Jare_th_."

"Jareth," Grace said.  
"Good job!" Catherine complimented.  
"Hello, Grace," Jareth smiled down at her. Grace tried to hide behind Catherine and she laughed.  
"Where's your sister today, Gracie?" Catherine inquired.  
"Claire's sick," Grace pouted.  
"Aw, that's too bad," Catherine pouted back. "Give her a hug for me."  
"I will," Grace replied.  
"I doubt she'll remember," Catherine said to Jareth when she rose back to her full height. "But that's fine. She's cute."

"She is indeed," Jareth agreed. "The children here seem quite nice."  
"People always put on a nice show when you first meet them," Catherine said, cynically.  
Jareth raised his eyebrows. "What does that mean?"  
"Nothing really," Catherine reassured him. "I'm not saying everyone here is terrible. But it's not like everyone's saintly."  
"Well, of course not," Jareth murmured. "But, for future reference, who are some people I should try and avoid?"  
"Judge Braen," Catherine said.  
"Yes, I know that one."  
"Believe it or not, Lauren Johnson," Catherine added.  
"The old lady playing the piano?" he asked.  
"Yes, she's not awful, but she sees and knows everything," Catherine murmured. "Some say she's as old as the town itself. So I don't know, just don't give her any reason to suspect you're… less than human."

"Would the townspeople believe her?" Jareth asked.  
"It's hard to say," Catherine shrugged. "She could probably get her other elderly friends on board. "And possibly her daughter. You see that couple over there?"  
Jareth followed her finger. "They're the Wilsons. There are two Wilson families. But Helen and Theodore are James, Peter, and Maxwell's parents."  
"Alright," Jareth nodded.  
"The other Wilsons, Isaac and Lana," she pointed again, "They're the parents of Sally and her brothers, they're fairly nice. They're not related to the first batch."  
"Is everyone here superstitious?" Jareth wondered aloud.  
"Oh, yeah, especially the Smiths, the Gibsons and a good number of elders. Reverend Verity is the nicest of all of them. George Robertson tends to be grumpy, so does Emma Edmonson. I think they should get married," Catherine said. Jareth laughed and she continued to pick out the other old people. "Jonah Andrews keeps to himself, mostly. I don't see the Davis family at the moment, but Old Man Saunders is kinda crazy. The Petersons are nice too, it's just if you make anyone suspicious, they'll turn like that," Catherine snapped her fingers. "Like, I used to be an angel child, but ever since I took an interest to Freecloud Mountain…" she huffed. "People are just odd. But that doesn't matter, I guess just don't do any magic tricks."  
"Noted," Jareth nodded.

"Well, well, well," a familiar, loud, and boisterous voice greeted Jareth from behind and he physically winced. "Looks like you made it to the service after all! I didn't see you!"  
Jareth turned to face Judge Braen. "I-I did make it, sir. I was sitting with the Horner Family…"  
"Oh, fast friends are you?" the Judge raised his eyebrows and glanced at Catherine.  
"I… suppose so, Catherine has been very nice," Jareth nodded.  
"Yes, well, there's no better girl to introduce you to everyone in town than Miss Horner," the Judge rested a meaty hand on Catherine's shoulder. Catherine cringed slightly, but only enough for Jareth to see. "She's one of the brightest girls here. But a mischief-maker at that! Don't let her get you into any trouble."  
Catherine was clearly miffed, but remained silent.  
"Of course not, Judge Braen," Jareth said, making an effort to not seem upset. He did not like the way he was treating this girl.  
"Yes, you do seem like you're one to obey the rules," Judge Braen murmured. "Speaking of rules, are you planning on going to school here?"

"I… don't even live here, sir," Jareth said.  
"You did rent room in our inn," Judge Braen pointed out, "And you paid enough for a month long stay. Your parents gave you so much money for your travels?"  
"I've been finding work in the other villages that I've been in." Jareth narrowed his eyes. "And how do you know how much money I've spent?"  
The Judge removed his hand from Catherine's shoulder.  
"While you're here, I think it would be most conducive for you to seek out some form of education. It is not good for a young boy to go without teaching for a month," he said, blatantly avoiding the question. "Do you know what conducive means?" He looked down at him haughtily.  
"But of course, sir," Jareth replied. "I understand everything you say. Thine forward voice, now, is to speak well of thine friend; thine backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract. While you wish for me to go to school, I am afraid I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request. 'Tis a generous offer, but I believe I shall resume with my afore mentioned plan. Many thanks for your input, most honorable Judge."

Catherine bit her bottom lip in an effort to stifle her nervous laughter. Judge Braen's expression faltered and his face started to grow red.  
"You," he pointed a fat finger in Jareth's face, "Should watch your tongue, boy. It is unwise to say such things. I _will_ be keeping an eye on you."  
And he whirled around at a remarkable speed and stormed away. Jareth could not help but feel a smug satisfaction.  
"I can't believe you said that!" Catherine whispered.  
"Oh?" Jareth smirked.  
"I mean… that was great, but…" she hesitated. "Judge Braen is kinda scary. That may not have been the _wisest_ move."

"She's right, you know."  
The two turned around to see Reverend Verity approaching them.  
"Oh, hello, Reverend," Jareth and Catherine turned. "How much did you…?"  
"Enough," the reverend reassured them, "An amusing show indeed."  
Jareth blushed and looked down at his boots. "He was trying to tell me how to live my life, sir."  
"He does that quite a lot," Verity replied. "But some people in our town need that kind of person leading us."  
"Because they don't know what to do with their own lives?" Jareth asked.  
"Yes," Verity nodded. "But I do think he was out of place. He just seems to forget sometimes that that behavior is not always called for." His gaze briefly flickered to Braen's retreating figure. "Tread carefully, my boy. Mr. Braen does not take kindly to insult, no matter how deserved it may be."

"Yes, sir," Jareth also followed the judge's form. "I'll keep that in mind sir."


End file.
